


For Want of a Letter

by EstaJay



Series: Postman!Warriors [5]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Postman!Warriors, Pre-Canon, mailman!Link, postman!Link
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:26:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstaJay/pseuds/EstaJay
Summary: Why Warriors decided to become a postmanOrHe asks her to write to him when she leaves. She does.
Series: Postman!Warriors [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807576
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	For Want of a Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I wanted to work the backstory into the main fic but plans have changed so much that this would likely get drowned in the mix. And for anyone who follows the potato fics, yes that is intentional ;)

In another timeline, Courage does not choose him. He hears the yells and shouts of his parents and buries himself deeper in the tales of legendary heroes to escape reality. He simply accepts that his mother 'dies of plague' several months later despite her being the picture of perfect health. He resigns himself to being the useless second son, belittled by his father, ignored by his brother and used by his aunt as a replacement for the children she lost. He moves to Castletown, into the thick of noble politics and bigotry where a soft spoken little boy with a love of books and flowers is completely drowned out and overtaken by a snooty uncaring noble just as callous as the next. He finds his only solace in chasing the ideal of a girl who never existed, clinging to the image even as it drives away his only true friend. 

This is not that timeline. 

He hears the row echoing through the manor but instead of continuing his willful ignorance, that little boy creeps out of his room, down lonely halls where no one would spare a second son a second glance. More than once, he thinks about turning back but a warm tingle in his left hand urges him to push forward. 

The night air chills his bones through his thin night clothes but he continues to the manor gardens. A woman with hair as red as roses and eyes as green as grass, traits that he didn't inherit but his brother did, is crying. She gives no concern about propriety, weeping into her hands as the flowers around her bow their heads in condolence. 

He can't crack his father's heart of stone and have love flow into their loveless marriage. He can't speak up when his father has little patience for disobedience and even less for his second son. What he can do is hug his mother's leg, still so small that he can barely reach her knee but providing a simple comfort that blankets her. 

"I love you, mama." He says, hugging her leg tightly like a shackle to the noble life she never wanted. "Father is mean but I love you. I'll always love you."

She hesitantly runs her hand through his strawberry blond hair and he leans into her touch. His brother complains about their mother's rough peasant hands, still bearing the marks of a simpler life, but he loves the gentle texture that reminds him of soft dirt and smooth bark. 

He looks up at her through wide-rimmed spectacles, magnifying eyes as blue as his father's but with none of his cruelty. She remembers when her second son was born, a spitting image of his father that she expected to grow up to be just as heartless. How wrong she was to condemn her sweet boy so soon.

"I love you, mama...but I know you can't stay with father." He has seen this all play out in his storybooks. When the mean husband becomes too much, the wife disappears. Everyone has their limits and he knows mama is reaching hers. “It…” he chokes back a sob. This is where he has to be brave for mama. “It’s ok. You - you can go…” 

There is kindness in those deep blues along with an awareness that no child should be forced to have. "Oh, Link…" She picks up her boy and hugs him close. 

She can't take him with her. Her Lord husband demanded an heir and a spare even though her sweet little boy deserves more than to be treated as a spare. 

He buries his little nose in her neck, taking in her sweet floral scent that no perfume could replicate. "I can read, mama."

She chuckles softly. "That you can."

"Write to me please?" He asks, hugging her tightly. 

It's such a small humble request that she would never find the heart to turn down. "Of course, my little forest." She says, pressing a small kiss to his forehead.

And so time splits. 

* * *

To be a postman is to have the most thankless job under the sun. There are many examples such as running from one side of the kingdom to another for a delivery only to find out that the recipient has moved to another damned town, having your feet so sore that blisters have formed, popped then formed again but still having a full quota to fill the next day because the office is understaffed or Elias's current predicament, being chased through a noble's hunting grounds by their spoiled heir's pet wolves for the crime of trying to deliver a fucking letter. 

"I'm getting too damn old for this," he mutters. 

The chase has barely put a dent in his endless stamina and he could probably outlast the wolves without even breaking a sweat. However, that would put him so behind in schedule that he would be playing catch up until his legs gave way. He was already two minutes and 23 seconds behind and for a postman, that is completely unacceptable. 

Then there is a  _ whizz _ from above followed by a sharp  _ tha-whack  _ and a pathetic canine whine. Two more shots follow in rapid succession, both hitting their targets with a pair of satisfying  _ thwacks  _ and a thump as one wolf is knocked unconscious. The rest whimper and turn tail, running back to their master. 

Elias sighs in relief, thankful for the reprieve. "Your aim's gotten better, boy." He calls out. 

There's a childish giggle from above."Gatty's stupid wolves had it coming for peeing on my plants."

The leaves rustle before a boy drops down in front of him. His clothes, rich and fancy by objective standards but for a member of the wealthiest family in the kingdom are plain and poorly-fitted, are carefully free of any dirt and leaves despite the boy just being in a tree. The postman hat, though, is new. 

"Bribed some newbie to sell you his uniform, eh?" Elias chuckles.

"Nuh-uh, I made this all by myself...with a tinsy-tiny bit of Auntie Doll's help. It's just like a real postman hat!" And being the perfectly to scale replica that it is, the rim slips off its perch on his thick glasses and engulfs half the boy's face. "Gah!" 

Elias laughs again and pulls the hat up. "Maybe you should have asked your Auntie to fit it to your egg head."

The boy holds the hat up with hands on either side. "I'll grow into it. One day, I'll be a postman just like you!" 

That pure adoration forces his smile just a bit wider. Highborn brats always fixate on the oddest of things. Their naivety and position of privilege make the most mundane things seem magical and Elias has learned to enjoy that innocence before the noble stick of snobbery gets shoved up their ass. 

"That reminds me…"

Elias pulls a letter out of his messenger bag and the boy's eyes light up. It's cheap pulp paper without a stamp, address or even a name. Standard procedure would have it thrown out as junk or a prank, a letter without an address is undeliverable after all, but on the request of the friend of a cousin of someone Elias owed money to, he found himself taking a detour on his busy route every fortnight to deliver these letters scrawled with 'My dear little forest'. 

"You can chitter and chetter but don't forget the letter," the boy recites as he greedily snatches the letter out of Elias's hand. He has no clue where the boy learned the postal office's many slogans but now isn't the time, as he hugs the letter to his chest, a poor substitute for whoever is on the other side, before opening it. 

The boy reads slowly, savoring every word like a high-class meal for the eyes. Elias's smile tightens. In the several months of making these extra deliveries, it's clear that the boy isn't loved in his household. There's no yelling or beating, that would be too unbecoming of any noble family, but he never forgot how the lord's neutral smile twisted into open disdain the moment he mentioned his second son or the teenager who was so intent on ruining any sliver of joy for his little brother that he has made increasing elaborate attempts to keep the postman away. Most damning of all is that first delivery where Elias found a downtrodden boy staring down a torn storybook and a trampled garden bed with a resignation no child should have. It's none of his business who has been sending unmarked letters to the youngest son of an ex-general and most powerful noble second only to the crown. It can be the fucking demon king for all he cares but for the happiness it brings this little boy, then Elias will gladly run the breath of the kingdom and behind schedule for these deliveries. 

The boy's smile as he finishes reading could put the sun to shame. "Do you have time for me to reply?" 

Elias is 10 minutes and 17 seconds behind schedule with his next delivery being two provinces over, not to mention the shitload he has to make before sunset. "It's a slow day kid. Take your time."

* * *

The downside of the best way of sending information being a running man in obscenely short shorts is that news travels slowly. Even if it was sent on horseback, something that the postal office's miniscule budget could never cover, then it is expected to be a week out of date. 

It is exactly three hours, 43 minutes and nine seconds after sunrise or 15 days, two hours, 57 minutes and 36 seconds since his last delivery for the boy, when Elias arrives at the manor. 

The brother is waiting for him, arms crossed with a deep scowl and a wolf by his side. Elias learned long ago not to pull the letters out of his bag until the recipient is right in front of him, a lesson many newbies learnt the hard way by the letter being blown out of their hands or soaked by rain as they pull it out the closer they get to their destination. Had the letter been out, he would have lost it to the wolf's jaws and likely his hand as well. 

"Didn't you hear?" The brat says haughtily. " That little shit 'died of plague'."

"Plague." Elias repeats incredulously. This isn't early Hyrule. Plague isn't the harbinger of death that it used to be, especially to nobility with full access to the latest medical advancements. 

"Yes,  _ plague."  _ The brat spits. "Now leave before I have you arrested for trespass." 

Elias doesn't put up a fight but he does hear the brat mutter "good riddance" the moment his back is turned. 

Either the boy actually caught plague and died from neglect or his family is trying to cover up an unsightly disappearance. Either way, wherever the boy is now is leagues better than this shithole. 

* * *

Link is as common as names get. Blame it on Hyrule's long history of heroes who all coincidentally shared the same name and the numerous uncreative parents who decide that it's the perfect one for their newborn son. 

The Triforce, if it even existed, only appeared once every millennia but the name Link is so tied to Courage that even bearing the name imparts a bit of its power. It's the ambition to aim higher, the drive to keep striving, the hope for something better. That is why, for all the Links in Hyrule, there has never been one at the dead-end job of being a postman. 

Until now. 

The name Link looks fake on the documents, he wouldn't be surprised if it's just an alias for their newest recruit, one who waltzed in head high like he had finally achieved some long desired dream. 

Elias peeked over his glasses to the young man who wore none. His clothes are simple and weathered but there's not a speck of dust on them despite how far he claimed to have travelled. The postman hat fits perfectly on his head despite no one having given him a uniform yet. He really did grow into it. 

"So what would make you a good postman?" Elias asks despite the papers already being stamped.

The young man smirks and tips his hat. "I'm pretty good at running."


End file.
